A Rogue By Any Other Name
by The Catastrophe Waitress
Summary: Which was how he found himself sitting on a workbench deep inside the garage, shooting the breezes with some new Cajun guy with an attitude just cocky enough for Logan to find him amusing." An unlikely friendship is established during Rogue's absence.


**Ignorant Bliss**

**Pairings:** Remy/RogueLogan/Rogue  
**Rating:** T**  
Words: **3764**  
Genre:** Romance/Friendship/Angst**  
Status:** Complete  
**Author's Note: **Issues? Problems? Typos? Tell me, because I'll fix them. Praise, however, is also nice ^^

__________

Politics. Elections. International Relations. Long, complicated relationships filled with backstabbing, negotiations and psychological warfare that could make or break the destiny of a nation. But they had nothing – absolutely nothing – on the dynamics within the Xavier mansion, Logan had come to learn.

Scott liked Jean and Jean liked Scott but sometimes Jean didn't like Scott and wanted to like someone else, but then got guilty and wanted to like Scott again and Scott would still like Jean even though he felt that sometimes she didn't like him as much as he liked her, and maybe he should just like somebody else who liked him, but Jean wouldn't particularly like that.

Kitty was friends with Jubilee who was friends with Amara up until Amara said something about Jubilee and Piotr, who Jubilee liked but didn't like the mansion knowing that she liked him, which Amara knew and went ahead and said it all anyway because she knew Jubilee wouldn't like it.

Rogue wasn't friends with anyone, and Bobby was friends with John, but somehow Rogue became friends with Bobby and therefore became friends with John, so she had two friends, only she liked one of her friends as more than a friend, but the other friend like her as more than a friend and was upset that Bobby also liked Rogue as more than a friend but didn't mention anything for the sake of their friendship up until … urrghh.

It made Logan's head spin, and he was just glad that he didn't have friends. He was the Wolverine; attachments could be fatal. Friends were too much aggravation, just for somebody to drink all your beer and talk about all their problems.

Well, that was sort of a lie. Logan liked Marie, or Rogue, or whatever name she went by nowadays. She smelt of soap and autumn and a whole array of comforting scents that made him want to forget about the age gap and the restricting mutant powers and the legal age of consent. Unfortunately, he hadn't seen her in six months. Six months was a long time to pretend you weren't missing somebody.

Firstly he'd gone on a mission for the professor and by the time he'd returned, she'd gone with Storm back to Mississippi to deal with some family issues that had been building up since her abrupt departure from her hometown. By the time she'd come back to the mansion, Logan had left for a three-month trip to Canada on a lead from an old military buddy.

Upon his return from Canada, with only a frostbitten ass and a considerable amount of facial hair to show for his troubles, the professor had informed him that Marie was in Greece with a friend of his, on a personal mission. He wouldn't elaborate.

After three-months of pent-up frustration and only the promise of a couple of beers, a hockey game or two and some stimulating conversation with his favourite hitchhiker to keep him going, Logan was not best impressed with this turn of events.

Which was how he found himself sitting on a workbench deep inside the garage, surrounded by the comforting scent of grease, oil and sweat, beer in hand, cigar in mouth, shooting the breezes with some new Cajun guy with unnerving eyes and an attitude just cocky enough for Logan to find him amusing.

"…An' then dis _homme_ – he's like 6'5 and built like a damn _tank_ – he's just standin' there, lookin' at ma chérie as if she's just grown _wings_," Remy paused in his story to take a mouthful of beer from the bottle he was holding languidly in his gloved hand. "And his eyes just glaze over and, I swear, it was like watching a tree being felled. _Homme_ just feel backwards, stiff as a board, and my girl's just standing there, the _picture_ of innocence, lookin' 'round the bar all wide-eyed like, "Did I do _that_?" I tell you, Logan, it was free drinks for the rest of the night, there. Bartender even had ma chérie showin' him how she threw that punch of hers." The look in the Cajun's eyes was nothing short of pride, and Logan couldn't help but be reminded of Marie.

Sitting out in the mansion's garage, with the doors wide open, the lazy summer breeze flowing in, and a chilled six-pack beside them, Wolverine could grudgingly admit that he was having a damn good time. He and Remy had already exhausted their usual topics of sports, motors and alcohol, and were cautiously moving on to more personal topics, something Logan found surprisingly at ease talking about with the younger man.

"Sounds like my Stripes." He grunted, drinking from the bottle to hide the slight twinges of guilt and pleasure he felt at calling her his, despite not having seen her in months, or ever having made his feelings known.

"Maybe we should get them together when they come back, hein? Sounds like they'd have a lot in common." As soon as the words left his mouth, Remy grimaced. "Maybe not, on second thoughts. Be like mixing dangerous chemicals together, _non_?"

Laughing with somebody else – real belly-laughs instead of the slightly mocking snorts he was used to – felt good to Logan. Was he getting soft in his old age? First forming a – dare he say it? – friendship with a teenage hitchhiker with poison skin, and then stumbling upon this camaraderie with one of the many new recruits to the mansion. Not bad for a self-proclaimed loner.

"Never shown you a photo of her, have I?" Remy asked, setting his bottle on a nearby toolbox in order to pat down his trench coat with both hands, fingers deftly dipping into pockets and compartments in a manner that revealed his unconventional upbringing. "Know I've got one around her somew- … huh. Guess I left it upstairs. I'll show it later, seein' as you're only down the hall."

Logan nodded in consent, still slightly curious about the mystery girlfriend that made Remy's eyes light up - no pun intended - every time he spoke of her. If he'd been that way inclined, he could have persuaded one of the many teenagers that swarmed around the mansion, seemingly appearing overnight and filling up the mansion with their hormones, noise and drama, to fill him in on Remy's mystery girl, but Logan couldn't quite see himself pumping one of the kids for information on a relationship. It messed with his carefully constructed bad-guy persona and God help him if one of the preteens took it as permission to start asking advice on their own problems. So the mystery girl remained just that. "You been together long?"

Gambit shrugged and sat back down, a packet of cigarettes in his hand that seemed to have materialised from nowhere. "Had my eye on her since I arrived. She was something different, y'know?" Logan nodded again, because he could honestly say he did know. "Flirted with her, managed to wrangle myself onto whatever missions she went on. She wasn't havin' none of it, though." He grinned, he face lighting up and transforming from a suave, overconfident Casanova into a guy who was very much in love, whether he knew it or not.

"She called me names, threatened physical violence a couple time a day, y'know, the usual." Another self-deprecating grin. "Think her confidence was knocked a bit, before I met her. Got hints from the other kids that she'd been pretty hung up on some other guy, but he was oblivious. Can't see that myself. _Homme_ gotta be blind not to see ma chérie for what she is. But I was persistent." The last sentence came out as a song as Gambit stretched upwards, wiggling his fingers in the air, smiling at the few stray sparks that flew from them like embers from a fire. "Dieu, she hated _that_. Couldn't work out why I wanted her. And it not like I could tell her, could I?"

Logan raised his eyebrows, slightly incredulous. "You sure 'bout that, buddy?"

Remy smiled and flicked open the cigarette carton, rolling one around in his hand, making little 'hmm-ing' and 'ha-ing' noises before putting it back in the box, his hand nervously tapping the lid. Meeting Logan's questioning gaze, he shrugged, a bashful smile tugging on his lips. "She don't like me smokin'. Gives me an earful if she even smells one around me." Sighing, he held the packet tightly in his hand until it glowed amber around the edges, and then tossed it up into the air where it exploded, causing tiny charred remains to flutter to the ground like confetti.

"And _homme_, that is a sight to behold, I tell y'. When she gets pissed off, I don't see the anger, I see the _passion_. Her cheeks start to pink, her eyes, they spark until you can see the fire behind them." He chuckled, stretching his arms out in front of him and raising them slowly to the ceiling. "Think she's caught on though. Started givin' me the silent treatment if I mess up now. _Ce n'est pas bon_. Gotta tease her 'til she cracks. Girl can hold a grudge. But where was I? Ah _ouais_. Never tell a clever girl she's beautiful, _ami_. She won't believe you, 'specially one who doesn't have much faith in herself to begin with. Y' gotta show her, y'know?"

Logan nodded and smirked, trying to imagine Marie's reaction if he just casually mentioned that he loves her eyes, her hair, her skin, her body in a conversation one day. Hell, telling her that her hair looked nice would get you a minimum of a snort and an eye-roll following by a quick death-glare on a good day.

"So how'd you go about _showing_ her then? Don't even think about telling me that you buckled and went for flowers and poetry, Cajun." He gently exaggerated the horror in his voice, enjoying the gentle ribbing he was giving the other man, and the sense of familiarity that he felt whilst doing it.

"Pfft." Remy snorted and leant his head back against the wall. "Please. They'd be hurled in the bin or seconds from being shoved into very sensitive parts of my anatomy within moments of me givin' them to her. Non. Y'know how I showed her she was beautiful? I became her friend."

Logan cocked an eyebrow rather sceptically, inviting Remy to elaborate. "That what you doing here, buddy? Trying to tell me that I'm beautiful?"

Giving a full, throaty laugh, Gambit turned his head and gave his companion a lecherous once-over with his eyes. "Well, y' do have that dangerous, wild-man look down faultlessly, if y' don't mind me sayin'." Turning back to face the rows of vehicles in front of him, Remy swayed the beer bottle gently to and fro letting the remaining liquid slosh about in the bottom of the bottle. "_Mais,_ seriously. I just made sure I was part of her everyday life. Saved her a seat at breakfast which, let me tell y', is a hazardous deed in itself. Left her notes, let her have control of the remote control for the television, partnered up with her in the training room and treated her like an equal instead of some sort of damsel in distress. Eventually, she just accepted that I wasn't going anywhere and that, more importantly, she was worthy enough to have a friend, a person who would actively seek out her company, who would ask about her day, who would want to be around her. It let her know that she was wanted, desired, loved.

"So, by the time I leant in for that first kiss, she didn't even think to pull away." Remy frowned, almost as if he were having a silent conversation with himself. "It was quick though, not much of a memory to hold on to, y'know? 'Specially when we're apart for long periods." Logan nodded, knowing all too well what Remy was trying to say. "Ma chérie, she's got this thing where … well, we don't get much alone time. Gotta take it where we get it, really."

Lifting the bottle to his lips and draining the last few drops that had collected at the bottom, Gambit jumped gracefully from the workbench where they'd been sitting and turned to face Wolverine, the smile on his face a complete contrast with the serious, thoughtful words he'd just spoken.

Giving a self-mocking little bow, Remy produced a slim cell phone from one of his many pockets and quickly read a text message that had silently just come in. The smile on his face widened and his eyes glinted even more than usual, creating a slightly disconcerting look about his red-eyed gaze, showing Logan exactly why their enemies on missions, no matter how experienced or cocky, always looked twice when coming face to face with Gambit for the first time.

"As always, _mon ami_, it has been a delight, a pleasure, a joy to spend such an enchanting evening with you." The text must've been something pretty amazing, because the Cajun was practically dancing on air, his accent thickening and his vocabulary reverting to that of a 1700's lord of the manor with a penchant for poetry. "_Mais_ unfortunately, I need my beauty sleep. Got a hot breakfast date tomorrow with a certain _femme_ who's deigned to grace us with her presence. I'll finally get t' introduce you two, once we get reacquainted." Logan had to laugh at Remy's expression, which was nothing short of ecstatic and a far cry from his usual unruffled, suave demeanour, as he waved him from the garage.

"Go, go. Don't let me keep you." Logan called to Remy's retreating figure, chuckling into his beer bottle before mimicking Gambit's previous pose and leaning his head against the wall behind him, enjoying the sudden near silence of the space and the knowledge that he was alone with just his thoughts for company.

_Y'know how I showed her she was beautiful? I became her friend._

Logan and Marie were friends. Logan thought Marie was beautiful. He just never got the chance to tell her, and a situation had never arose where he'd be able to tell her without her laughing it off or, even worse, going deadly silent. All he needed was for Marie to come home, and then he'd be able to gauge where they were with each other. Would they swing straight back into the comfortable friendship they'd always shared, allowing Logan to maybe let her know he was interested in more? Or had the time apart been too much? She was young, forever changing her style, her demeanour, her hair. Hell, her accent changed pretty frequently, depending on how much time she spent with other Southerners, thickening to a throaty, seductive drawl before fading into a style that held only a whispered allusion of where she'd been raised. Wolverine was static; his body suspended in time, letting slip no indication of his true age other than the odd reference to an old television show or a grumble of loss over _the way things were _that let slip out every now and again.

But it wasn't something that would end a relationship before it started, not if they accepted that not everything could be perfect all the time. Both Marie and Logan knew that, knew that not everything was controllable. Thinking back to what Remy had said, Wolverine considered how hard it must be for the couple, having to restrict their time together because of training or missions or simply the lack of privacy in and around the mansion. If one mutant gave another mutant a look that was even slightly more than friendly, it would be fabricated into a deliciously over-exaggerated piece of gossip and distributed around the mansion within minutes.

The gossip mill would probably implode if Logan and Marie got together. The anti-social, never-aging recluse who could shish-kebab anything or anyone faster than a speeding Pietro, and the equally anti-social, teenage runaway who had a habit of inadvertently draining anyone who came into contact with her bare skin for more than a few seconds. Hardly a predictable pairing, but then again, what did it matter?

Pushing himself off of the bench and standing to his feet, allowing himself a little stretch to compensate for the hours he'd spent motionless in the same position, Logan frowned to himself, not understanding where all the emotional, analytical thoughts had come from all of a sudden. Probably some character quirk he'd picked up from Gambit by osmosis due to all the time he'd spent sitting and talking with him. And whilst it seemed a totally normal thing for Remy – a guy who, whilst on the straight and narrow for the most part, couldn't seem to shake off his predisposition for planning and scheming that came naturally when one was raised in a family of thieves – to do, it was unfamiliar territory for Logan. It was out-of-character, it was confusing and, most importantly, it was unnecessary.

Logan and Marie were friends. Logan thought Marie was beautiful. And whilst he'd just never got the chance to tell her, that was going to change. Soon. The moment she came back from whatever secret mission she was currently on, he'd sit her down, tell her how he felt, and wait for her response. Easy, simple, natural. Just like it was always been between them.

Clearing away the beer bottles and other various paraphernalia that every guys-night required, Wolverine smiled. It would all work out, just so long as he went with his gut and kept it straight-forward and uncomplicated. Hell, he might even ask Remy's girlfriend for a few pointers tomorrow if he felt the need. She seemed like an intelligent, no-nonsense kind of girl from how Remy had described her. Perfect for a suave, smooth-talking guy like Gambit.

__________

_Eight Hours Later ..._

He didn't know how he'd missed all the signs.

The fact that both he and the Cajun – he couldn't bring himself to use his name anymore, couldn't equate the man he'd formed this camaraderie with to the man who, unbeknownst to him, was now his rival, his enemy – used nicknames for her hadn't helped. Stripes, Chérie, Marie, Rogue. Whatever name they used, they were all still referring to one person. A rose by any other name, and all that. It had never even occurred to him that Rogue would have a connection with anybody else that paralleled their own.

The person in question had been the first thing Logan had seen when he'd come down to the kitchen in the evening. She'd been tanned from the Greek sun, which was a surprising contrast with her usual pale skin. She'd been smiling and talking animatedly in response to a question, which was a surprising change from her usual soft, composed, slightly detached attitude when interacting with other people.

These surprises, however, had been just that. Surprises. Changes that, whilst unexpected, were easily accepted, welcomed, even.

The shock, on the other hand, was electric. Just as fast, just as unexpected, just as fatal.

If they had been any other couple, Logan would have just grunted and his head would have registered that they looked happy together and that he was always slightly pleased that fate had decided to give a couple of mutants and break and let then enjoy life. If they had been any other couple, he would have grudgingly accepted the inevitability of the fact that a new wave of gushingly saccharine honeymoon behaviour was about to descend upon the mansion, followed by the inevitable rounds of explosive, petty fights before the bashful apologies arrived.

If it had been any other couple, it wouldn't have been so painful to endure the moment Rogue became aware of his presence in the room, when she jumped up and engulfed him in an overly enthusiastic hug before pulling back and pointedly taking his rough, calloused hands in her own un-gloved ones, a genuine, beatific smile capturing her face. It wouldn't have left him feeling dull and anesthetized as she dragged Remy forward, proudly presenting the pair to each other like a teenage girl nervously offering up her prom date to her father for inspection and approval.

Confused by his stilted, gruff acknowledgment, Remy had grinned awkwardly and turned to Rogue – arm slung casually around her waist, fingers absentmindedly playing with the folds of her tank top – to explain that, actually yes, they had already met, that he'd beaten her to the introduction. The Wolverine had had to then endure a minute of Rogue cheekily bragging about how she should let him have this one win, as she seemed to beat him at everything else. There were references to conversations Logan had never heard, incidents he hadn't been present at, games consoles he wasn't familiar with. It brought home how much he'd missed of Marie's life recently.

As Rogue jabbered at an uncharacteristically fast and enthusiastic speed to Jean about the Professor's friends in Greece who had finally helped her harness her powers, bestowing upon her the gift of control that she'd unceasingly yearned for since her powers had manifested, Remy sidled over to Logan, unaware of the permanent fracture in their friendship that had just emerged.

"Hey, _homme,_ she's everything I told you she was, hein?"

As Logan nodded his head mechanically in accord, he couldn't help but think that Remy had left out a few salient details. Details that, had Logan been aware of, would've allowed him to piece together the previously insignificant clues that had been wordlessly secreted away in his mind. But fate hadn't played out that way.

"...Girl you've been talkin' about gets back? You've met mine so it's only fair I .. Hey! Logan! Where ...?"

He knew that was where he had slipped up. He'd kidded himself, allowed himself to get comfortable as Logan when really there was no denying who he was.

He ignored the confused conversation from the kitchen that still rung in his ears, even as he pushed the door of the garage open. Locating his bike, he sat astride it and started the engine, loosing himself in the dangerous purr of the engine, the barely contained energy that rumbled beneath him, aching for release, to truly make use of the power, the strength it had been gifted with. He could relate all too well.

Because he wasn't Logan. He was Wolverine. He was strength, he was danger and, most importantly, he was solitude. It was about time he let himself remember that.


End file.
